Too Awake

At 3 a.m., I am flooded by the urge to open the bedroom window to the rain. After lifting the sash, I slipped back into bed with a happy reverence for cool, white sheets and smooth, naked legs and pillows that still smell like the shower I took a few hours earlier. Fresh air and the pattering of softly falling water floated over my rest like a benediction.

overwhelmed / under rain

This perfection is equal to a sunny day kissing my shoulders in the garden or to the zen moments sitting on the shore with the sea in my ears and salt in my mouth. I didn't go back to sleep because I was too happy. Too alive. Too awake, my love.

Taking a break from the vines yesterday, dirt and I fell into a pile on the deck step. When tilting my face to the sun rays between giant oaks, I had to shift a bit to get a full face of it. And that's what is happening now – an alignment with light. Back into the garage, I startled a cardinal couple. They flew around in a disorderly flurry, pausing in strange places before finding their way out of the garage. I spoke softly to them but my presence only urged them onward in haste. Every day there is a bird story; there is no memory of when that wasn't true.

This and other ways the altar is no longer hidden. Love on display and offered up as the only possible way.

More rain as I sign my last will and testament. Since last night, 4” have fallen and more is on the way. Again, water threatens to be the thing.

Springtime – like drinking from a fire hose.